


Cure What Ails

by Ooze



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-01 01:01:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17234462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ooze/pseuds/Ooze
Summary: She'd never leave her master's side, not for a damned thing. Not to save herself or anyone else. V had that guarantee from her.





	Cure What Ails

**Author's Note:**

> This very vaguely alludes to my [previous work](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17158712) regarding Shadow, but that one needn't be read for this to be understood. Also, yes, I'm aware Shadow's eyes are more red than magenta and that she has no _fur_ , but... disregard those minor points.

His voice rang not with familiarity but, to her ears, with the tones of an adversary. She knew his weakness, she saw the panic in his eyes—and it was ripe and raw, fresh, real, unmistakable and unconquerable. Alarmed, aggrieved, he looked more like prey to her than anything. A feeble meal, all skin and bones perhaps, but still something to chew on.

She was wild in the eyes and feral all over; in what appeared to be two blinks of an eye she'd dared to commit mutiny. The heat of battle might have confused her, a demon might have found a chance to influence her psychically, and although they'd all met their death by the time she turned, her mind had already gone. She snarled, threw eyes brimming with enmity at those she'd once considered allies, but it in the end it was V who'd solely garnered the predator's aggression and her utterly genuine threats to his life. He was within her cross hairs now, not a man to safeguard but a man to destroy. He lacked the speed to escape snatching claws, and this she knew. She had only to lunge to catch him, to knock him down into the dirt and crush his windpipe. He'd doubtless been aware of the very same, hence his haste to distance himself from the fate she'd guarantee him. There were a great many other ways to deliver his death, but she seemed fond of the most primal and feline. Refusing to alter her form, Shadow counted on the brute force commonly associated with the wild felines of the natural world she'd appeared as.

But he spoke against her, his tone was clear: he bade her to stay put, to defog her mind and _remember_. His voice was an unwelcome clamor, persisting in calling the name with which she was identified, and while she recognized it she hadn't found it an anchoring force. Shadow was a demon, and like her kin she would forget whatever kind of heart she had beating in her chest. Whatever it was that made her sensitive and passionate had become stifled from one moment to the next, and with that same savage rapidity did she fling herself upon he who'd once held mastery over her. A furious charge with claws unsheathed; she swiped at him when he sidestepped at the last second, and though he evaded her she was fast in pivoting on her heels and throwing both sets of claws at his puny frame. No chance to avoid that one; he was brought down mercilessly. He should have known better than to draw away from a predator as he did. It only spurred her, the scent of his animal fear and the thrill of the hunt arousing in itself. Griffon's voice came piercing, shouting for his master and pleading for reason from the demon beneath the guise of a black jaguar. If he had not acted by now, it was only because V had forbidden it.

Shadow's claws snagged. They broke through thin, tender flesh and received a coating of red upon puncturing muscle. A pained cry was a signal of success. Shadow moved in as her master crashed on his back, losing grip over his cane and as well as his bearings, sight blurred and head dazed; and while his body ached from the collision his arms were set ablaze by razor-sharp knives searing the tissues in his arms. He bled deliciously, the scent was intoxicating. The cuts grew in length and depth with every motion, from his fall to the struggle that ensued to the removal of those claws, and with each he winced and snarled and cried. Try as he might to choke it down and brave it all, he'd utterly failed. Even for all of his torment he forced his eyes open, moistened by tears, snarling much like a beast himself with the fire of desperation and the need for survival blazing in his eyes. It was motivating to Shadow who'd understood those baser, feral reactions; she understood he was lively prey, right on the brink of death and needing but a chunk bitten out of the throat to be stilled.

Maybe the bond broke at last. It had to have been inevitable: V played with _demons_ all along. Perhaps he was resolute in spirit, but his body paled in comparison. His bones would snap like twigs beneath Shadow's weight, she'd smother the life out of him with mass alone. She was a behemoth in contrast, more than capable of making a rag doll out of him. Now she'd come to hover over V, legs on all sides of him to incapacitate him absolutely. In the face of his pain he'd shot his arms up in some pitiable attempt to keep the demon at bay. His hands flew to her jowls, eliciting a roar from Shadow and, with it, a bitterness that flashed in her eyes he'd never before seen. The exertion coaxed streams of blood out of his wounds, running down his shoulders and beginning to pool. Like the weak little man he was, his arms trembled from the force (and, understandably, from the panic that thrummed throughout his body); utterly pinned, with his life inches away from the fangs of certain death, V might have taken a moment to wonder why his familiar hadn't _ended_ it by now. She was relentless in her rebellion, bristling from head to toe from the unadulterated ferocity that descended upon her like a bad plague. It was his adrenaline that had him fending her off immediately, aided by something _more_ that he thought, or wished, originated from the very demon intending to kill him.

Gradually were his arms pushed back, what little strength in them bleeding out by the second. He called Shadow's name obstinately, fruitlessly. She'd have been an inch away from tearing into his throat now, but a pang abruptly seized her by the ear and it proved adequate in disrupting her focus. Talons grabbed at Shadow's face, prompting the demon to turn away from V and to snap her lethal fangs at the avian familiar come to their master's salvation. So it appeared that all care was thrown to the wind when V's instruction was cast away, and Griffon, with loyalty set aflame, worked out an opportunity for V to find his freedom.

Shadow was successfully drawn off of her master, bounding in pursuit of the demon that led her a safe distance away. While V scrambled to his feet, Shadow managed a slash that resulted in claws snagging in tail feathers. She roared all the while, mindlessly taking out her frustration on anything that provoked it. Griffon swiped a foot at her in purest panic, and he'd every reason to be stricken with terror: she would have taken a bite out of him if she'd brought him down to ground level. For better or worse, she was denied the chance when he slipped free and rose higher into the air. The effort went not without its cost, however, and he'd lost a handful of feathers in the brief struggle. But it was well worth it as the warlock had ascended to his full height, cane restored to his possession and determination renewed upon a worn, dampened face.

Bloody and haggard though he may have been, he stood his ground in spite of all that would have kept him down. Anxious and shaken though he was, he found valiance in the face of a danger that had nearly taken his life and would certainly try to again. Griffon urged him away, but he chose instead to toss his life in jeopardy for the umpteenth time that day. As if a beast himself, he bellowed, “Shadow!” with all the authority of a commander snapping his subordinates to attention.

The one called for had taken the hint, remembering her name, and whipped around to face V with, still, enduring enmity and a hunger in her gut. She snarled openly in response, poised for another charge. V was not moved this time. Though his heart hammered, he refused to back down. Without the benefit of favorable odds, much less a guarantee, he still believed he could turn her around. Griffon took to his side, alerting his master of the obvious hazard before him but _of course_ it was dismissed. “I think you were right about poisoning. That cut's still on her leg, she must be infected with something,” he went on to inform, and it seemed to alter something in his master's mind.

“A hallucinogen,” V concluded with a whisper, eyes stony and fixed upon a pair of amaranth red. She mirrored the gesture and stared him down in kind, and it was true that she'd bore upon her foreleg a cut that hadn't healed in over an hour since she'd received it. She'd have pounced were it not for a deterrent so far unknown to her, scraping within at something only recently buried that might not have been forgotten in its entirety. A feeling familiar, albeit vague and nigh imperceptible now, that she'd lost somewhere, goaded by the sound of her name uttered in her master's voice. He implored her to remember, to open her eyes; his entreaties were strongly delivered, it sounded as if he'd not suffered in the nerves or the body. But the image before her painted itself in stark contrast.

He was vulnerable, breaking apart, in need.

“I'll fix you yet,” he croaked, issuing a promise of help under the guise of a threat. His cane was brought above the ground and pointed squarely at the demon standing across him. She stilled, tensing for but a moment, but glowered persistently as if on the ropes. That cane was a tool, a weapon, something she remembered with acuity. It grounded her, allowing the warlock to near. A reminder of the past, their first hours together; he'd used it to deter her then and it seemed like history was set to repeat itself. Then, she backed down. She was tamed. Now, she was on the fence, neither here nor there. That in itself had to have been a break.

Her name was repeated without a waver, and while she was irritated by the sound she knew, too, that she was meant to be comforted by it. From the cane to lit pools of peridot her gaze traveled, and it was held there when she locked eyes with V. Though the snarl across her maw endured, her muscles tightly wound, her tail swaying and writhing behind her, she found from one moment to the next that she'd been rearing upon her hind legs. Not to spring upon anyone, but rather to _withdraw_. Shadow wanted away from her master now, perceiving him as a threat to be avoided rather than engaged. Like an animal backed into a corner, she arched her back and showed her teeth, snarling and growling and looking ferociously wild in the eyes. Her own ally had shared words of caution for their master to heed, but he acted against both the guidance and his own sound judgment. She thought him irrational—and, therefore, _deadly_.

“You filthy _demon_ ,” hissed V with an anger palpable that rose up his throat, “I should have expected this. Just a matter of time, wasn't it?” The latter slithered through clenched teeth, venomous in tone. The accusation should have insulted Shadow, and in fact it had: she snarled against it, offering her own protestations against him and everything he'd represented to her. If only she knew it was a ploy. But, then, she may not have weakened if she did.

The end of the cane came to hover inches from her face, but save for the one glance she'd spared it, her eyes did not veer away from those that commanded her. She was suspended in anticipation the while each stared the other down, yet gradually had V brought up his free hand to present to the demon. Palm facing outward and fingers spread, he struggled against his enfeebled vessel to bridge the gap that separated master and familiar. If he wore a scowl, it was the result of sheer resolve. Beads of perspiration dotted his brow, an indication of his physical efforts and the pain that he simultaneously wrestled with. His scent no doubt filled the predator's nostrils; thick, and piquant and unsavory at once, and overpowering. Blood, sweat and tears in less colorful terms—he wore them like a bad cologne, mixed in with the dread and the apprehension and all the rest that his body chose to exude. It was as confusing to a carnivore not born of the Earth as it was stimulating. Still in pause, her gaze moved from V's to his hand. It was smeared with his blood, diluted by the sweat on his palms. She wondered as to its effect: would he strike back at her with it?

The warlock closed the distance; he'd neared her successfully, his hand within inches of her maw. “You remember me. Come, you know my scent,” he urged a mite soothingly, dropping the aggression with which he approached. Shadow marked that his arm trembled—his whole body quaked as a matter of fact. The cane struck the earth with an unmistakable _thud_ beside him, working now to support at least one half of his weight as he stood stationary before the demon.

Griffon stressed caution, stressed his _doubt_ and put emphasis upon the hazard unto which his master forayed. “She's gonna bite,” he said definitively, convinced of the outcome while Shadow had yet to raise another paw.

On pins and needles she waited, all her self a hair trigger that should have discharged by now. Without inclination to move away she found that she'd instead begun lowering herself upon her haunches—but she was stilled in the middle of it, not quite seated but not quite standing. Her eyes darted from hand to face, face to hand, entirely uncertain as to cause or motive or consequence. But with her tail curling sharply, stilling behind her as the rest of her body had, she'd not come to realize that she'd been led into a state of arrest beneath the unyielding gaze of a warlock she'd once known to be her master. That familiarity had wormed into her psyche now albeit minor in effect. What wicked spell had he cast upon the demon? To paralyze her so, to provoke whatever lay dormant within her when all he'd done was walk and watch her was both a wonder and an enigma in itself. The mention of _scent_ had her swayed, and it was upon his hand that a predator's eyes had settled at last. Jaws parted, tongue peeked out of her mouth, respiration gained weight.

She'd caught the sound of V's exhale, a haggard thing unsuccessfully concealed by restraint. Her nose all but grazed the skin of his palm. Her breath was hot; she'd felt it rebounding off of his palm and onto her whiskers. Minutes ago she'd have taken a bite out of that appendage; but, as it were, she'd suffered a change in mood and mind. She was pressed to scent, the commands clear in her ears as she'd hesitated to act. His voice was ceaseless, struggling against the quaver that would have taken it by force; the usage of her name proved repetitive, and like a leaf in the wind he shook. All this Shadow had noted but equally dismissed. That hand waited before her, stubbornly, and at last she was moved to draw in her first deliberate breath, dragging into her nostrils the scent she'd been badgered to remember. She followed with another, and another, more coming thereafter at a quickened pace with audible huffs. She smelled his palm, his fingers, ruminated over the scents that both obscured his own and identified him. His blood, his sweat, every one element that was so _personal_ and _his_ : it called the demon to flick her tail, straighten out her legs and stand tall. Even with her own open wound still burning and dripping, beyond even the stimulating effect V's blood had had on a carnivorous mind, Shadow found clarity and temperance.

A damp nose brushed all across an open palm. It'd been warmed thoroughly by her breathing, and as if this wasn't satisfactory enough for either herself or her master, she took the added step to push her nose into his hand, drawing in deep breaths as if to examine what lay beyond skin and muscle. The slightest pressure had invited V's fingers to collapse around her muzzle, seemingly needing rest from what little exertion had been thrust upon them. So it appeared that he'd clamped his hand around her jaws to keep them shut, and even Griffon had exclaimed against the action, but Shadow herself had felt that V's hold was weak and she'd marked the strain and the wear and the tremble in his arm, perhaps still unaware it was all a reflection of his ills.

She felt no fear in him… What followed might have surprised: out from her mouth jutted her pink tongue, giving the palm of V's hand a lick. Anyone might have assumed she'd _tasted_ him for feasting now, but rather than bristle she softened. She was quiet, investigative, lapping again and again at her master's skin in search of something. And she may have very well found it.

“That's good, Shadow.” V's voice sounded in praise with gentle tones, quiet notes. She was allowed to go on, and though at first she'd been inquisitive, her licks had now become apologetic. Now the demon felt guilt, offered recompense through affection; the subtlest purr rattled at the bottom of her throat. The ferocity in her eyes had died, no more had she bristled or snarled or reared backward. Wild for a long moment, but now tame at last again. The fog lifted! She knew her master's scent, knew his voice, even the tang of his sweat on his flesh. She knew him too well to have ever forgotten on her own; what transpired was no doing of hers, least of all through her own will. A far more faithful familiar than Griffon. She'd never leave her master's side, not for a damned thing. Not to save herself or anyone else. V had that guarantee from her. Such was the nature of their bond, and long before now had he not only been master to his familiars, but a _friend_.

It was a shame that, now, she beheld the damage she'd done to him. The bindings of their bond had been tested and, unfortunately, some were severed in the process. Rebuilding them would not take too much time, but the tissues along V's arms might. He bled continuously though he'd toughed it out. Shadow seemed almost to _whine_ at him, rubbing her crown against the clammy hand he'd still held out to her. His voice sounded again, firm and cool, tinted by a discomfort that made manifest the reality of his situation. V would have damned himself if he retreated to lick his wounds before mending Shadow's. Alas, he could not accomplish that to the fullest. Her own cut had not healed itself, but she may have gotten through the worst of it. V hadn't yet.

What remorse the feline experienced. She knew what she'd done though she'd known not why. Had anything more revolting ever been felt? Never once before—she hadn't even known she was capable. Griffon's presence had gone ignored by her, even as he chattered and hovered closely. A demon of no consequence at present; it was their master who required the attention. Well aware of his enfeebled state, Shadow broke off the contact between them. With a notable look of empathy in her eyes, she watched him from below. But he wouldn't have it: though his arm fell, he lifted it again to plant his hand over her nape. _This_ wasn't encouragement, however.

“I don't feel good,” he admitted with humility, gathering a touch of what little amusement he could spare at his own expense. He smiled weakly and dropped to his knees then. If not for Shadow's support, he'd have fallen in a heap. Her strong body had allowed him to lean on her as he descended, and even as he knelt on the cold asphalt underfoot he left his arm about her.

Griffon took to his side, firmly grounded with his companions. Downcast went their master's gaze, head drooping now. Shadow sat with him, craning her neck forward to brush his brow with her nose. He felt cold… With a purr she pressed her crown to his forehead, perhaps meaning to spur _him_ now. As if out of acknowledgment, his hand ran weakly across her pelt. He was there, all right, even if in bad shape. Oh, the poor thing. What had she done to him? He whom she'd known first as a warlock, then master, then friend—the reason for her being, and she'd almost robbed herself of that. She'd even become, almost, _motherly_ toward him. And for all that, or regardless of it, he'd seemingly cured what ailed her. Whatever possessed her to act against him had gone now, she'd insist on it _staying_ so. Now she must return the favor and help him, in her own limited way; it was the very least she could do, and she owed it to him for what she'd done. Even if he'd already forgiven her. It hadn't quite mattered that he had: if she had anything to say about it, _her_ _V_ would recover.


End file.
